


Five Times Fabian Hawke Wanted to Tell Theron Mahariel He Loves Him, and The One Time He Did.

by kisssanitygoodbye, moodymarshmallow



Series: Like Attracts Like [18]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six vignettes about Fabian's reticence to admit that he's in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Fabian Hawke Wanted to Tell Theron Mahariel He Loves Him, and The One Time He Did.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kisssanitygoodbye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/gifts).



> Written by Moodymarshmallow. Merry Christmas Sanity!

I.

Theron sat in the library, on the floor before the hearth, with a long, wide strip of leather spread out in front of him. On the leather was a pile of plain feathers--turkey feathers, he said when asked--that he had been splitting with a tiny, delicate knife. His movements were methodical and controlled; he examined a feather by picking it up, rolling it between his fingers, then zipping the vane between his middle and ring fingers. Whether he set the feather aside or snapped the shaft was determined by some secret knowledge, but once he found a suitable feather he laid it flat on the leather and split the quill down the center with that little knife. He made two piles--left wing and right wing, and yes it matters, he said when asked--then, when the feathers were all snapped or split, he threw the broken ones into the fire and rolled up the mat.

"Done?" Fabian asked, as he watched Theron from over a book he couldn't concentrate on reading, too interested in Theron's skill to focus on anything else.

"Only with splitting the feathers." Theron rose with grace, the leather roll tucked under one arm.

"What else do you have to do?"

"Sand the shaft of the feathers down until they're smooth, then tie them to the arrow shaft." Fabian followed him with his gaze while Theron placed the leather bundle on a table off to the corner--his table. "If I have enough arrow shafts, that is. I may need to dry that green wood and strip the bark." Theron stood on his bare toes and stretched, his arms high above his head, impeccably balanced. "Carve the nock, attach the arrowhead..." He lowered himself to his heels and moved to meet Fabian beside his chair.  _"Vir_   _Assan_ : fly straight and do not waver. I make these arrows in the old way, and they serve me well."

"I'm surprised you have time for anything else, really." Fabian closed his book, marking his place with the ribbon sewn to the spine. "With that much work, it must break your heart when you shoot one of those."

Theron slid into Fabian's lap, resting his slight weight easily against one thigh, swinging his legs over the arm of the chair so that he'd be pinning Fabian in if he were not light enough to lift without trouble. "They rarely break. I can often recover them after a battle. Why the sudden interest my arrows?" Fabian shrugged and lightly kissed the top of Theron's head.

II.

Steam filled the bathroom, billowing out in great clouds when Fabian opened the door. This was not the first time he had come home to find an intruder in his house--it wasn't even the first time he'd found one in his bathtub. However, it  _was_  the first time that he entered the bathroom to find short wax candles flickering on the shelves and windowsills, casting a warm, but dim yellow light across the room.

"So did you come in the front door, or did you pick the window again?" Fabian asked as he waved steam out of his face and neared the bathtub, finding, as expected, a content elf half-dozing in the hot water.

"Sandal let me in," Theron said with a small yawn, lifting his wet hand to cover his mouth, sharp incisors peeking out just enough to startle Fabian. He knew they were there; he had felt them digging into his shoulder and neck, but the sight of them always made him start. They were a reminder that this small, tattooed beast that shared his bed and stole into his house to use his washtub was feral and impossible to tame.

"Did he, then? Did he also provide the mood lighting?"

"Odd little thing, but he knows me." Theron shifted in the tub and the water sloshed, filling the air with the scent of the mild soap he favored. "And he knows that you're always happier when I'm here."

The weak lighting would have kept Theron from seeing Fabian blush, were he not an elf, so Fabian turned to stare past the foggy looking-glass, his cheeks burning.

III.

There was blood running down Theron's thigh, pouring from a vicious wound. "It's fortunate," Theron said, his voice light, fluttering and woozy as he tugged his belt tight around his upper thigh, "that the blade was not a bit sharper." His hands slipped and he tsked in disgust as he wiped blood onto his pack. "I should be--I will be fine, in time."

"You're joking," Fabian said, crouching beside him, alarmed by the lack of color in Theron's face. He was always pale, but there was often a ruddy flush on his cheeks, especially after battle. There was blood on his eyelashes. Fabian gently rubbed his face with the heel of his hand. "We should get you to a healer."

"I'm fine." Theron attempted to rise, but with an uncharacteristic lack of balance, wobbled to the side once he got to his knees. He slid down onto his good hip, sighing. "Those short bastards are always the worst," he said, resting on his elbow. "Perfect height to gut you." He pushed at his thigh with one slick, bloody hand, satisfied that the wound was no longer oozing, and got to his feet like a baby deer, wobbling, unsure. Fabian put a hand out to steady him and Theron stood up straight, heaving a long, irritated sigh. "I'm going to need a drink," he said, then, without warning, collapsed.

Fabian caught him before he hit the ground and lifted him into his arms. Even limp and lifeless, Theron was easy to carry, and Fabian cradled his bloody head next to his cheek while he jogged down the steps to Darktown. His blood was screaming in his ears, his legs weak, his heart pounding, by the time he reached Anders' clinic. With no thought to their feuds, their history, he jammed into the door with his shoulder, shouting for Anders in a raw, jagged voice, with no concern for the patients frightened by his sudden intrusion.

"Do you really have to be so dramat--" Anders stopped mid-word at the sight of the unconscious elf in Fabian's arms, at the blood pouring down Fabian's fine trousers. "Put him down on the cot here," Anders instructed, examining Theron with the practiced eyes of a healer, noticing the belt-cum-tourniquet with an impressed nod. He held his hands up over Theron's body and blue light exploded from them. Fabian watched as the Anders' eyes, warm amber, blew out with an eerie blue glow.

Fabian held his breath.

A soft hissing noise filled the air around Anders as he lowered his hands, the blue-white fade-glow disappearing into the ether. "There. That's all I can do for him, but he should be fine in time." Anders raised his weary head to meet Fabian's eyes. Something dark and unspoken sat behind them, and Anders turned away. He unbuckled the belt around his thigh and left it undone as he tended to a woman who, by the look of her belly, was moments from giving birth.

Fabian sat in a barrel next to the cot, stroking Theron's cheek with a damp rag, pink from his blood. Patients passed him curious but silent, looking over Theron's prone, motionless body. He glared at a man who gawked a little too long, baring his teeth like a mabari.

Theron groaned when his eyes fluttered open, his pupils taking some time to focus as his gaze darted from corner to corner of the clinic's ceiling.

"You are such an arse," Fabian said softly, brushing his knuckles against Theron's cheek when he turned to look at him.

"But you love me," Theron said, his voice bleary.

Fabian leaned down to press his lips to Theron's temple and said nothing.

IV.

"Are you in, Red?" Varric asked. He tapped a sovereign on the stone table, one brow raised at the elf with his bare feet resting on the tabletop.

"Give me a moment," Theron replied, shuffling his cards from hand to hand, throwing a warning glance at Fabian when he stroked his thigh. "Two moments if Fabian insists on fondling me between every play."

"That's quite alright with me," Isabela purred, and with a snort, Fabian removed his hand.

"You would," Fabian muttered. He lifted the mug of watery ale to his lips and took a deep pull, making a slight face at the foul aftertaste. "One of these days, Corff will kill us all with this bilge water."

"You should have brought wine." Theron placed two cards on the table and slid them towards Varric, grabbing the narrow green bottle next to his elbow. "Not bad for fifty silver."

"The elves don't sell to me," Fabian said and took the cards Varric passed across the table. "And if they decide to, they jack up the price. I've never gotten elf-wine for less than a sovereign."

"Poor baby," Theron said with a bemused grin. "However do you ever manage?"

"Alright children, Papa Varric is ready for his hard-won booty." Varric flashed his cards to the table. "I believe these lovely ladies mean you lose."

"Isabela threw her cards onto the table.” You two-bit, good-for-nothing, son-of-a--"

"My mother was a saint," said Varric, reaching one big paw forward to grab the pot.

"She may have been a saint, but she raised a poor cheater," Theron said as he flipped his cards around to show the same hand as Varric. He grabbed Varric's cards while Fabian watched in naked amusement. "You used some kind of invisible ink or paint to mark the dummy cards." Theron scratched the card with his thumbnail and glanced at the translucent flakes on his skin. "I suppose you didn't think anyone else would feel it if they didn't know what they were looking for."

"Well, shave my chest and call me a nug! I didn't even think you knew how to play, Red, much less cheat." Varric sat back, shaking his head. "I guess this hand is a forfeit."

"Hang on," Fabian said, putting his hand over the pot as Isabela reached for it. "If Varric's hand would have won, and that's the hand Theron got without cheating, then Theron wins."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Hawke has a point." Isabela tested the corners of her cards with her nails as she spoke.

Varric groaned. "You bastards are all turning on me at once," he muttered, though he was smiling. "And you don't even buy anything." Varric shot a look at Theron as he scooped the coins into a fat leather coin purse. "It's a waste, is what it is."

"I hear The Blooming Rose has some new blood," Theron said as he flipped a coin into the air, catching it easily. "Maybe I'll buy myself a whore."

Fabian choked on his ale, coughed, and glared up at Theron when he thumped him on the back. "That had better be a poor joke," he hissed.

Theron laughed and ran his fingers through Fabian's hair. "Ah, ma vhenan, I shall never fear the dread wolf with such a ferocious beast at my side."

V.

"I don't like it," Theron said, his nose wrinkled at the spoon Fabian offered him.

"You said you'd never had egg custard!" Still he pushed the spoon towards him, but Theron backed up until he was plastered against the headboard, as if he were frightened of the thick, creamy pudding.

"It's  _sweet_. I can smell it, and I don't like food that has that sort of sickly sweetness." Theron was petulant, sitting comfortably naked with his arms crossed.

"You like port."

"I like alcohol."

"You like raspberries," Fabian said pointedly, finally stuffing the spoon into his own mouth.

"I think sour things are nice." He inclined his head thoughtfully. "I liked those small yellows things from Antiva."

"Lemons. And you're not supposed to just eat those like an apple or something; they're a seasoning or a garnish." Fabian snorted and set the bowl to the side. "You're lucky the viscount found that charming."

"What do I care for your viscount?"

Fabian turned to lay on his side, propping himself up with his elbow as he reached to stroke Theron's bare belly. "You care because I need to stay in his good graces to keep myself out of the Gallows."

"And what do I care?" he repeated, his tone playful. "I do not need your patronage. I can go anywhere I please."

"You'd be miserable," Fabian said and pulled himself up so he was sitting next to Theron, he nuzzled to his cheek. "You'd shrivel up and die."

"You think you're like water?" Theron asked, chuckling. "Or food? That without you I'll have nothing to sustain me? You are like wine, Fabian. You are a pretty bit of pleasure; fun, but completely unnecessary."

"You don't mean that," Fabian said, and pressed his nose to Theron's cheek. "You don't mean that at all, do you?"

"Of course I don't." Theron cradled the back of his head when he kissed him, his mouth firm, his tongue mobile and determined as he slipped it past Fabian's lips. "Mmm." He pulled back and dragged his tongue across Fabian's lower lip, then licked his own, tasting.

"I thought you said you didn't like sweets." 

"I like it on your lips," Theron said, and pulled him close for another kiss.

 

VI.

"I brought you something." Fabian said.

From the chair in front of the fire, Theron looked up from the book he was paging through when Fabian entered. "From the Bone Pit?"

Fabian nodded.

"It had better not be another dragon egg." Theron stood and took the book to the shelf. "I'm still washing the stench out of my pack."

"No, I've learned my lesson," Fabian said with a wince. "Close your eyes." Theron eyed him suspiciously, but came to stand in directly in front of him, eyes closed, and held out his hands, the heels and each little finger touching one another.

Into Theron's outstretched hands, Fabian placed the white flower he had picked outside of Kirkwall. "Go ahead and open them," Fabian said, a sudden pang of uncertain regret hitting him low in the stomach.

Theron glanced down, curious, cocking his head slightly to the side as he examined it. "It's a flower."

"I was walking back from the Bone Pit," Fabian began, "and I passed through the Wounded Coast. This was growing in the middle of a completely barren patch, nothing else around it. It was just...stubborn, arrogant." Fabian rubbed the back of his neck. "It made me think of you...it's stupid, right?"

Theron laughed softly, kindly, and wrapped has arms around Fabian's neck, loosely holding the flower behind his head. "You missed me."

Nodding, Fabian bent to kiss him, burying his fingers into his hair, finding Theron's mouth hot and open. The warm pressure of Theron's thigh on his hip told him Theron wanted to be picked up, so he slid one arm under Theron's ass and stood up, supporting him while he wrapped his arms around his waist. Fabian smiled, resting his forehead to Theron's, watching while Theron tucked the flower over his pointed ear and cocked his head to the side to show it off. He was smiling, sharp incisors visible, pale eyes reflecting the dim firelight, and Fabian closed his eyes. "You're beautiful," he murmured, and opened them, meeting Theron's. "Theron, I..." Fabian swallowed, trying to muster up the words. 

"I know you do," Theron said, stroking his hair. "How could I not?" 

 


End file.
